


Fragile

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Series: Season 5 Fix-its [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, F/M, POV Bellamy Blake, Time Skips, just a glimpse into their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: Things do, in fact, change when they get down to the ground.





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> hey friends! this is not a becho fic, this is not a bellarke fic. it's just about two people and a relationship and the changes they go through. i would've loved some scenes like this and i'm worried that jroth isn't going to give them to us, so i wrote them myself. written to fill in the blanks, not make a statement. i will always always always choose bellarke, and that hasn't changed in the slightest.

_It had been a day or two since Murphy officially left; they were all pretending not to notice Emori’s face, even as Emori was pretending she was totally fine._

_Bellamy sat against one of the windows, looking up when Echo’s footsteps slowed in front of him. She sank down next to him, their backs against the cool glass and the moon casting their silhouettes into shadows._

_Their shoulders were touching, and Bellamy had moved his arm slightly; Echo understood and slipped her hand into his._

_“We’re not like that, right?” she’d said quietly, and when he’d looked over, he saw her eyebrows were furrowed._

_“Like what?” he asked, working his fingers between hers._

_“Fragile,” she said, and before he could contest that, she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant...breakable. Like we’d shatter.”_

_And that made sense._

_She meant how Murphy’s eyes were now hollow, how Emori stared at things without blinking. How they would have to relearn parts of themselves now that the other wasn’t there to remind them._

_“We’re not like them,” he conceded._

_They were silent for a moment, the humming of the station filling the empty halls around them._

_“I wonder if we could be.”_

_She said it so quietly, he wondered if she’d meant to speak aloud. He looked over at her again, and her frown had deepened._

_They hadn’t done this yet._

_Hadn’t talked about what they were, if there was even a ‘they’ to discuss._

_It had taken years for the trust between them to be rebuilt, and he couldn’t erase what she’d done; they both know that. A part of him might not ever forgive her for Gina. Or for leaving them at Mount Weather, or Octavia, but he hadn’t tried to force that. He understood why she’d done it, and he chose to neither ignore nor accept it. It just kind of was. And just because he didn’t forgive her didn’t mean he couldn’t see how much she’d changed._

_Space did that to a person._

_Not just the galaxy, but the distance, and Echo had had plenty of it. From the rules and ceremonies that had governed her life to an entire new system of law and order; she’d had to transition. That transition just ended up pushing them towards each other._

_“Echo, I—” he began uncertainly, but she cut him off, with a quick shake of her head._

_“We couldn’t be,” she said decisively, like that was all there was to it, and now it was his turn to frown._

_“Why’s that?”_

_Echo turned to look at him and though her expression was serious, amusement sparked behind her eyes. “Are you going to make me say it?”_

_He shrugged, not quite sure what she was getting at._

_Echo looked down at their hands. “We’re not breakable because we’re not forged. We’re just not. We work together, we go well together, and we get each other but we’re not...we’re somehow still not together. John and Emori were.”_

_He didn’t know what to say to that._

_Echo knew he wouldn’t._

_She let out a short breath of air, her head falling back against the glass. “I’m not asking for fealty or undying love or anything. There’s too much here, or there was too much that isn’t here...Hell. I don’t even know. Just, promise me…”_

_She trailed off, and he felt her eyes on his profile, so he looked over at her. The amusement was gone, and in its place, something like resigned acceptance. She stared at him for a long moment and Bellamy finally looked away, not sure what she was searching for._

_“Promise you what?”_

_She squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes back to her. “Let’s not try to be something we’re not, yeah? We’re here, and there’s enough we can’t change, so let’s not make more problems for ourselves. If you want out, if I want out...we say the word. And we walk away in one piece.”_

_He knew he should feel ashamed that his first emotion was relief._

_But she was right; she did get him. She knew what he wasn’t saying, and knew where his mind was when he said it wasn’t anywhere._

_They couldn’t change the past._

_They couldn’t tell the future._

_They barely had each day._

_He nodded slightly, and she relaxed next to him, slouching slightly so she could rest her head on his shoulder. He tilted his head on top of hers, revelling in the familiarity._

_They weren’t Emori and Murphy, impassioned and turbulent, flashing and raging. They weren’t Harper and Monty, sweet and wholesome, soothing and healing. They were...they were themselves. Separate even when they were together, functional, beneficial._

_Comfortable._

\---

**(Seven months later)**

\---

Echo’s quiet when she comes back to camp.

Bellamy notices it right away, even though she smiles easily at Emori, and sidesteps Monty as he sloshes a bucket of water up from the stream.

But he doesn’t want to push her, so when she gives him monosyllabic answers to his questions about her recon trip, he doesn’t pressure her into sharing what is on her mind.

Is there any change in the Elgius camp? No.

A final count on their numbers? No.

Any confirmation on whether they know about the bunker? No.

The silence continues through dinner.

It still feels new to all of them, eating food that requires chewing. Textures in general, really, contrasted against six years of smooth metal and polished glass. Bellamy had forgotten that the ground had warmth, and trees whistled in the wind, and the spray of a waterfall was enough to dampen your clothes without a foot in the water.

Harper caught a couple of fish is grilling them over a fire; the light is fading and everyone congregates around the flame. She laughs, telling them the story of a captain haunted by demons, dragging a hooked arm like an albatross. Emori looks delighted, Monty looks enamored, and Murphy is doing a pretty fantastic job of acting like he isn’t listening, even though his mouth twitches suspiciously. Echo is just staring through the fire.

When everyone laughs, her voice joins them, and Bellamy absently wonders if they notice how hollow the sound is.

He asks her to help him with the dishes and have Raven take the first watch, and when she agrees without protest, he knows he was right. Something is eating away at her, and she needs to talk through it.

As soon as they’re clear of the camp, Echo’s shoulders visibly tense, and her grip tightens on the dish bin she’s clutching. She still doesn’t say anything, and Bellamy watches her profile as they walk down the steep incline to the stream. Even as she puts down the bin and begins washing dishes in the cool water, her mouth is set in a firmly sealed line.

So he takes the dishes when she hands them to him, pats dry some cutlery and a plate before she finally lets out a long breath.

“It’s her, Bellamy.”

He almost doesn’t recognize her voice, sounding low, and almost rough.

Her hands still in the water, soapy suds drifting away from a half-washed bowl. And when she lifts her eyes from the bubbles in the water, he has to suppress the urge to wince, because she sees him.

Sees the way being back on the ground is affecting him. Sees him pause when he realizes he’s the only one in charge, sees his reaction when Monty trips over words to avoid saying a name. Sees him scanning the treeline before he realizes the blonde hair he’s looking for out of habit will never emerge from the woods. Sees him struck speechless when a shooting star brings back a memory he’d tried to lock away. She sees.

Bellamy clears his throat, reaching for the bowl rather than the words. “I know,” he says, wishing his voice wasn’t heavy with words he’ll never speak, “I’m sorry; it isn’t fair—”

“I stopped believing in fair a long time ago,” Echo interrupts him, sitting back on her heels as she lets the bowl go. “Long before I met you.”

He dries the bowl, setting it in the stack next to them, settling back as well. “Still doesn’t mean it’s fair,” he mutters.

And it isn’t fair.

Echo is here, Echo is now. She is smart and she is tough, and she is a million other things that make up for the demons she still carries inside of her. He doesn’t even think about that much anymore, the red in both of their ledgers. He focuses, as he has always had to do, on the present, and what they have instead of who they’ve been.

“I was thinking,” she says softly, looking over the water, “how wrong we were. It’s impossible to be down here and think we could be the same as up there.”

She doesn’t say it with resentment, just honest reflection. Bellamy flicks the water off his hands, wiping them on his pants, leaning them back behind him. Echo’s eyes are still on the ripples of the water; her expression is peaceful, somewhat resigned, but honest as her voice.

He lets out a quick breath, remembering their conversation from months ago. “So, what, is this you walking away?”

She shakes her head, the motion slow and certain, her hair shimmering on her shoulders. “I think it’s me letting you walk away.”

“I’m not asking for that,” he says carefully, trying not to acknowledge that he doesn’t feel anything beyond confusion. He should be angry, should be fighting for them, should be demanding an explanation. Instead, this feels like it was inevitable. That whatever good they had was good for a time, and now that time is closing. Nothing heartbreaking about it, just simple and clean  and final.

“I know,” she says simply, turning from the water, “but you never would.”

He knows she’s right, but she doesn’t look like she’s done, so he waits. After a moment, she sighs. “You know, we’re still unbreakable.”

“I thought that’s what we wanted?”

“It’s what I wanted,” she says quietly, her eyes finally dropping. “It’s what I’m good at, and it’s what I do well. And it’s why we worked, I think, because we both needed someone to be strong for.”

“But you don’t want that anymore?”

She laughs lightly, a sound that’s more of a sigh than anything else. “I can be strong for myself. Always have been.”

“That’s an understatement,” Bellamy mutters, relieved that it brings an actual smile to her face. But it seems to fade just as it reaches her eyes and she shrugs slightly. “But that’s not what you want.”

He lifts his chin. “Why do you think that?”

“Can I get a time violation pass?”

“Sure.”

“Six years and almost a month, Bellamy.”

He winces when she says it, but makes himself hold her gaze. “Yeah?”

Echo’s eyes soften, and her head falls slightly to the side. “What is that, something like over 2000 days?”

“Probably.”

“It’s a veritable lifespan of time, Bellamy, and you’re still looking for her.”

His eyes drop and he feels his jaw clench. Echo doesn’t bring up Clarke, nobody does, as a rule, around him. And now here they are, and she’s about to walk away, because of her. He feels Echo’s hand on his face, her fingers settling on his chin as she lifts his eyes to hers.

“It’s not that I can’t compete with a ghost, it’s that I shouldn’t have to. The fact that she’s not here,” her hand falls from his face and she gestures around them, before her fingers fall to his chest, pressing against the thin fabric of his shirt, “but she’s still here? That’s what I was wrong about. We’re not breakable, but you are. You still are. For her.”

“Echo, I—”

“If you tell me you’ll get over it, I’m tossing you into the lake,” she says quickly, and the soft smile is back, turning up the corners of her mouth.

“You could do it, too.”

“Damn right I could,” she pauses for a moment. “But...you couldn’t. Get over her, I mean. Not with me.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but realizes he doesn’t know any words. All the ones he should say seemed trite and the truth is in all the ones he shouldn’t say.

She gets it.

She lifts her hand off his chest and he feels the physical loss of warmth, but nothing else seems different between them. Her hands hovers for a moment and then she lifts it, brushing a curl off his forehead. Her movement is slow, deliberate, and it’s a silent goodbye. Her fingers trail down the side of his face, and then she can’t delay the inevitable. Her hand drops.

Her eyes are dry; his are too.

She nods shortly.

Pulls her legs up under her and stands, pushing herself to her feet. She hesitates for a moment and he recognizes what it is. Fifteen minutes ago, she would’ve held a hand out for him. Now, she bends down to pick up the empty bin, and lifts her chin at the cloth with all the dried dishes on it.

“You’ve got those?”

“Yeah,” he says automatically, before he registers what she’s asking. He clambers to his feet himself, picks up the corners of the cloth and follows her back up the incline. They can see the campfire, and the rest of their friends clustered around it, when she pauses again. She doesn’t stop, but her step slows, and he feels her eyes on him.

“I know it might not be her,” she says slowly, softly, “but you’ll find someone again. Someone softer than me and who fits you just right. You deserve that, Bellamy. Someone you’re fragile for.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just nods again, to herself, and walks towards the fire. She dumps the bin next to the side of one of the tents, and pushes Murphy’s shoulder as she rejoins the group. Emori slides over, and Echo settles on the log next to her, the two duck their heads and Bellamy watches as they mutter to each other in Trigedasleng. A moment later, Emori’s head falls back in a quick laugh, and Echo’s eyes are dancing.

Monty has taken over the story-telling, and he’s spinning a tale of his first infractions on the ark. Raven looks positively unimpressed, but manages to school her expression into something akin to awe whenever Monty’s earnest face turns towards her. The fire casts a warm glow over the group, and sparks leap from the blaze with the occasional crack.

He joins the circle.

Nobody casts them any suspicious glances, nobody asks if they’re okay. And he realizes she was right, after all, they really weren’t breakable. Some things have changed, of course, but in a way, nothing has.   

 


End file.
